


Heart of Dorkness

by FireWithFire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coach Derek, Derek is potato, Failwolf Friday, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sexy Times, Stiles is a bit insecure, Training, Unfortunate comments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireWithFire/pseuds/FireWithFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek puts his foot in his mouth yet again. Of course he tries to make up for it.<br/>Failing, miserably, obviously.<br/>He pushed Stiles to the point where he had to prove the werewolf wrong. Where can that proving take them? Who is right here, Derek, who didn't mean to be mean, or Stiles, who got proud and stubborn... the day he was born?<br/>Sex is inevitable. Resistance is futile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Dorkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Awstilessum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awstilessum/gifts).



> A work commited thanks to a prompt from [Awstilessum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Awstilessum/pseuds/Awstilessum).  
> Sorry it took so long, couple of other things piled up, preventing me from porn-making in time.  
> Hope you like it!

“Hey, enough with the pizza, maybe?”

“Why? I’m hungry, I’ve been in school since nine!”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just--”, Derek hesitated a little. “It’s unhealthy.”

“You eat pizza almost every day, if it wasn’t for me bringing Chinese every once in a while, in a month you would be able to make a fortress out of pizza boxes!”, Stiles remarked.

“Sure, but my organism deals with the calories... differently.”

Stiles had a puzzled look on his face just for a split second. It quickly gave way to anger.

“Are you telling me I’m getting fat? Seriously?”, he scoffed. “I train lacrosse twice a week, I can easily run a mile _in my sleep_ and I--”

“Calm. Down. Oh God, I didn’t call you fat, but now I’m afraid you’re getting your period,” Derek tried to joke, but it only made things worse. If that was even possible.

“Okay, fine.”

Derek knew many things, he had no idea about even more. He was sure, though, that that calm tone was just a poor cover for Stiles’ fury. If there was one thing this boy could not let slide, it was commenting his body in any kind of a negative manner.

It was dumb, but true. Stiles had a sensitive spot there, now growing to the size of paranoia, being always so close to Derek’s ripped body, rock hard abs and amazingly chiseled arms. He could easily name at least ten things in his own body he’d like to change. Get rid of some of the moles, strengthen his legs, improve his stomach. Remove the ADHD part, too. And right now, he was seriously hurt by Derek implying he was getting fat.

Plus, he was ridiculously terrified that Derek might one day stop finding him attractive. Up till recently, he attributed that fear to girls only, but now, he was scared out of his mind. Especially now that the threat came so close he could feel its cold breath on his neck. After all, a guy like him could have everybody with so much as a smile (hey, that’s still more that it took Stiles to fall for him). Stiles firmly believed Derek had a superpower - making anyone attracted to him, regardless of gender and sexual preferences.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Derek say. “I didn’t mean it to come out this way.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said, very, very calmly, out of habit leaning forward for another slice of pizza. He scolded himself in his thoughts mid-move and reached for his glass instead.

“I’m just making sure you eat healthy. What did you have for lunch?”, Derek asked warmly, putting his arm around Stiles.

“A sloppy joe.”

Derek tried to come up with a remark that would bring his stocks up a little.

He took a second too long.

Stiles wiggled out of his embrace and walked, slow and steady, to the bathroom. Derek could smell, he could almost taste the disappointment and hurt in the air.

Stiles locked the door behind him and gazed absentmindedly in the mirror over the sink. Was he really starting to get chubby? He did skip some trainings recently...

Derek walked up to the door and put his hand on it. He knew exactly how to pick that silly lock with one claw, he just didn’t know if he wanted to.

He didn’t feel that Stiles was getting anywhere near fat. Honestly. All he wanted to signal was that Stiles didn’t eat healthy. Seriously. That was all.

****

*

****

“What time do you start the beta training tomorrow?”, Stiles asked, opening the door and walking out. He almost tripped over the legs of Derek, who sat beside the wall.

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Derek stated.

“Not the answer to my question.”

Derek sighed quietly. He hated that distant, cold and reasoning Stiles that came around every time he screwed up.

“You sleep till noon on Saturdays,” he added, as if that was going to save the situation.

“I know, I’m fat _and_ lazy. What time.”

“Eight.”

“Fine, wake me up and I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to, Stiles, really, why? I’ll be training beta werewolves, you can’t keep up with them--”, he stopped abruptly realizing how it must’ve sounded. And he was right, judging from Stiles’ eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring and heart speeding up. But instead of saying anything, the teenager just huffed and walked back to the living room area, and sat on an armchair. Leaving no space for Derek to wedge in by any means possible. And, he didn’t say a word, which was even more scary. Only his feet moved, swift, sharp motions in unpredictable directions, chaotic as the teenager’s mind.

Stiles actually tried watching the movie, but his thoughts escaped his not-so-firm discipline, roaming free and unbound as usual. Right then, he was thinking about what he’d gotten himself into. How could he think he could train with the betas? And Derek, for that matter? He might’ve been good at lacrosse, but he was nowhere near werewolf-good in anything. Those three little pups could run faster, not to mention longer, and God knows what else does Derek make them do. Hunt? Eat raw deer meat? Lie in bushes and sneak up on bunnies? He didn’t want to kill bunnies! But, more than that, he didn’t want Derek to see him as a lazy ass, vacuuming up pizza and growing wider every day. He had no choice, no backsies. Set in stone. No crying over spilled milk.

****

*

****

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be waiting for you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

“Are you nuts, do you know what time-- oh, it’s seven forty-five already. Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Okay--”

Derek probably wanted to say something else, but Stiles somehow went overboard with the fifteen minutes. He hung up, jumped out of bed, grabbed a tracksuit and dashed to the bathroom, thinking about how cold asleep he must’ve been not to hear Derek go out.

He ran downstairs in exactly seventeen minutes. Alpha was waiting patiently, and not at all checking the time on his phone to see it Stiles could do it, not even a little, nuh-uh, no sir. He smiled warmly at Stiles, but it met with no response, so they both got in the Camaro and Derek drove them to an oddly familiar place.

“The old lacrosse field?”, Stiles asked, surprised and apparently suspending the silent treatment he was giving Derek as a punishment.

“Yup,” Derek answered, pulling up behind the bleachers, old and wooden. They seemed oddly unstable.

“Where are Erica? Isaac? Boyd?”, Stiles inquired, getting out and looking around.

“At their homes. I pushed their training to one, just so I could ruin their day a bit.”

“Sure. And not at all so that I wouldn’t practice with them,” Stiles scoffed, going around the wobbly construction that were the bleachers.

The court had been empty for a couple of years, nobody cared for it now that the school had its very own, new field Stiles knew oh so well. The grass grew wild, unmowed, wherever it could, but it was mostly dried up. And right in the middle of it, there lay like a dozen scrap tires, a bit to the left was a provisional bar - a long board nailed to some crates dug into the ground. Between two trees nearby, there was even a wall made out of boards, at least twice Stiles’ height, with a thick rope

“What is that?”

“That’s an obstacle course for you. You wanted a training? I got you one. Now move and warm up, give me two laps, you see the running track? Go! Move!”, Derek barked at him, suddenly losing his peaceful attitude. He was frowning, standing on slightly spread legs, arms crossed, and he stared at Stiles angrily.

“Did you build this now?”, he asked, too shocked to react in any other way.

“No, weeks ago. Go! Two laps, half a mile, now!”

Stiles took off, wondering what happened to the smiling werewolf. He probably stayed in the car. Was Derek always like this when he was training the betas? Was ‘mean’ his default setting? Well, all Stiles could do was to buck up and jogged lightly for two full laps. He stopped then, and stretched out a little.

“What are you doing? It’s not a ballet class, drop down, fifteen pushups!”, he heard Derek shout.

He obeyed. There was something in Derek’s voice that foreshadowed serious punishment for insubordination.

“Fine, come here,” Derek yelled when Stiles finished. “That’s how it’s going to go. Listen, because I won’t repeat myself. First you run through the tires. Try not to get tired.” He paused. “That was a joke.”

“Are you sure?”

“Shut up and listen, will you? Next, you run over the bar, then go over the wall, and you run a mile. Four laps. I will time you. Understood?”, Derek asked, pulling an old, analogue stopwatch out of his pants’ pocket.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, trying to figure out the fastest way to deal with the course.

“I can’t hear you,” Derek growled.

“Yes!”

“Good. Ready? Three, two, one, go!”

Stiles ran his hardest, dashed through the tires, clumsily made it through the bar, and climbed up and down the wall, even though the rope cut his hands. He then ran for the running track and made it through the full mile.

Panting heavily, he jogged to Derek.

“How’s my time?”, he asked.

“Not bad,” Derek mumbled. “You could do a bit better on the mile, though, you lost precious seconds. Take two minutes and you’ll try again.”

He sounded much calmer now. Stiles wiped his forehead with the lower hem of his shirt. And yes, he noticed Derek glancing at his stomach. He might’ve been hot and sexy, or mean and scary, but he was not discreet.

“Can I have your keys? I left my water in your car.”

“Yeah, sure,” Derek said flatly, handing him the keys.

Two minutes passed, Stiles rehydrated and rested. He walked to the start line and readied for Derek’s sign.

Alpha readied the stopwatch and waved at Stiles.

Four laps later, sweaty and tired, but quite pleased, Stiles came back to the middle of the field.

“How was that?”

“Still not quite it. You can and will do better. Try again in a couple of minutes,” Derek said, resetting the watch.

“Do your trainings always look like that? A jog, a break? A jog, a break?”

“Kind of, but when one of them takes a break, I have two more to mop the floor with, humiliate and make them cry like babies.”

“You are cruel.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Possibly. I’m still waiting for my psychiatrist to respond.”

Derek chuckled and quickly turned his head away. He cleared his throat and turned back.

“Come on, walk around, get ready for another mile. Do your best this time. Try to try,” Derek said with pretended indifference.

Stiles ran another four laps. After which he almost coughed out his lungs, since he’d given all he’d got in him to do his very best and beat his personal record of six minutes fifty five seconds. The track was uneven, to his disadvantage, but after several laps he kind of memorised the most annoyingly uneven parts.

“What is-- What’s my-- time, now?”, he asked, running back to Derek, because it was somehow hard to stop right away plus he’d heard it was unhealthy and really bad for the muscles.

Derek stared at the stopwatch for a moment, not saying anything.

“It’s... It’s six thirty-two.”

“What? How come? Are you sure the stopwatch is fine? Did you start and stop it right?”

“Stiles, I have werewolf’s reflexes, and the watch is fine, I’ve used it before. You ran a mile in six and a half minutes, kudos.”

Stiles looked at him, panting heavily.

“Thanks. Can we go home now?”

“Sure.”

Derek felt strangely proud. Mostly because, even though he’d had Isaac tamper with the stopwatch a little, so it would run a hair slower, Stiles’ result was awesome even without those couple of seconds shaved off.

They got to the car and Stiles reclined the seat all the way down. He knew Derek didn’t like it, but alpha chose not to react. And, he forgot how to speak once the doors closed, he could smell Stiles’ skin, sweat, shampoo, deodorant, washing powder from his clothes. All the pheromones ran through the air just to kick him in the brain. Before fastening his seat belt - or thinking about what he was doing - he leaned over Stiles, put a hand under his neck and kissed him, greedily, as if he hadn’t done that in a long time. He dragged his other hand down from Stiles’ cheek, through his chest, to his hip. He could feel the heat of his body, the wet fabric under his fingers, and muscles underneath the shirt. Stiles put his arms around Derek’s neck and lifted up a little. He slid one hand in alpha’s hair, and Derek moved his hand from Stiles’ hip into his boxers. He could feel him getting hard, and his own cheeks burning up. He tried to stop himself, but couldn’t, until the teenager pulled away with an evil grin and grabbed his wrist.

“Howdy there, cowboy,” he purred, softly touching Derek’s lips with his. “Hold your horses. Let’s go home.”

Derek shook his head to regain focus, sat back and started the engine. He also rolled down his window, he needed fresh air so he wouldn’t just jump Stiles there and then.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

****

*

****

They barged through the door, and Derek closed them with a kick. They didn’t break their kiss even for a second. Derek took off his jacket and threw it in a general direction of the hanger. He pinned Stiles to the wall, holding him by the wrists, and licked his neck, tasting the salty sweat, then cuddled to the crook of Stiles’ neck, unconsciously pushing his hips forward in the process. Stiles moaned silently.

“Derek,” he whispered. “I need a shower, like, now.”

“No you don’t,” Derek muttered. Stiles could feel alpha’s lips moving on his own neck, his stubble lightly scratching his skin, hot breath that made him shiver.

“Yes I do!”

Derek pulled away a couple of inches, grabbed Stiles, shirt and took it off him.

“No. You. Don’t,” alpha said in this deep, resonating voice that made Stiles’ knees turn into jelly, and put the shirt to his face and sniffed it. He then threw it away and dragged his tongue along Stiles’ collarbone. “I so much prefer your smell on _you_.”

“You are insane,” Stiles purred, struggling to unzip Derek’s pants, finally succeeding and pulling them down, dropping on his knees.

He slid up his hand under Derek’s shirt, trailing his nails down across his stomach, until he finally reached the edge of alpha’s boxers. He pulled them down just a bit, before leaning forward and lightly biting Derek through the material. He was really hard, so that small bite made him hiss and moan. Stiles didn’t want to tease him too much, so he dragged his boxers down all the way. Derek kicked them away along with his pants, and Stiles licked him, and again, gaining a groan of pleasure for his efforts. Aroused like crazy, he took Derek in his mouth, sucking him, licking him, scratching Derek’s thighs. As he moved his lips along him, he felt alpha’s hand on his head, softly stroking his hair, pulling them just a little, until Derek hit that stupid spot that Stiles had, right at the base of his skull, and scratched him there. That dumb spot that made him stop and purr with pleasure, unable to get up. He leaned back and licked his lips, looked up to see Derek gaze at him with those amazing eyes. He stood up, slowly, supporting himself on alpha’s shoulder, and pressed his lips against Derek’s.

Hie werewolf senses went nuts long minutes ago. He wanted Stiles as close to him as possible. When Stiles got back up and kissed him, Derek was completely disarmed.

“Let’s go up,” Stiles whispered. “Would be much more comfortable.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waits and lifted him up, and Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek. They stumbled to the bedroom, almost falling down the stairs once or twice.

In the bedroom, Derek threw Stiles onto the bed and freed from his pants and underwear. He got naked himself and looked at Stiles. He kneeled down between his legs and trailed his hand up his thigh, reaching the hip and softly digging his nails in Stiles’ soft skin there. He bent down, kissing his stomach, and dragging his tongue along this unbelievably sexy line of muscles right above Stiles’ hip bone. He went up Stiles’ side, suddenly turning left, changing the route, licking Stiles’ chest, up the neck, the jaw line, reaching his lips, soft, dry from all that heavy breathing. He wanted to taste more of Stiles, but was suddenly thrown aside and pinned down on his back, probably by magic or because of the element of surprise, and that crazy sexy teenager that lay underneath him seconds ago who made his instincts go nuts. And he found himself with Stiles kissing him furiously and climbing on him, sitting on his stomach. Derek put his hands on his hips, and felt Stiles reaching to the nightstand. He heard a bottle of lube open, and felt the cool gel on him. Stiles moved a bit, repositioned, and lowered his hips, slowly.

Derek hissed quietly, feeling himself slipping inside Stiles, the warmth overwhelmed him, for a little moment it was all he wanted to feel. A loud moan escaped Stiles’ throat, and Derek had to gather up all his might not to thrust his hips up. He let him stay like this for a moment, though, despite how difficult that was, how much he wanted to be all inside him right away, but he knew they had to start slow, little movements, hips softly rolling forward, no rush.

Stiles started moving, slowly, up and down, up and down, resting his hand on Derek’s chest. His lips were parted, eyes fixed on Derek’s. He breathed more and more heavily as his hips went lower and lower, his heart raced like crazy. Derek forced himself to stay still, but that didn’t last very long. He felt the muscles on Stiles’ thighs, could draw them on his skin from memory. He slid his hands up, to Stiles sides, and dragged his nails down, leaving light red lines on his pale skin, getting the teenager to gasp in surprise.

“Oh God, Derek,” he panted. “If you do this again, I swear I’m gonna--”

Derek treated this as a challenge. Stiles moved his hips much faster, and alpha started to thrust his hips as well, in the same rhythm, causing their breaths to synchronize. The teenager was flushed, his skin glistened with sweat. He looked perfect, from this angle, from every angle, he was Derek’s, all Derek’s to have and love.

Stiles picked up on that. He saw the affection in alpha’s eyes, saw the hungry, passionate look he was checking him out all over with. And he felt good about himself. Even better that he did thanks to his amazing one-mile run time. He leaned back, resting his hands on Derek’s thighs, arching his back a bit.

Derek moaned, and, without even thinking about it, scratched Stiles’ skin again, from his ribs to his legs, slowly, carefully. Stiles screamed with pleasure and surprise, throwing his head back, and came, all over alpha’s stomach, groaning quietly as his muscles twitched a couple of times. Derek sat up and, partly out of instinct, partly of the sheer hotness of the image he saw in front of him, clung to Stiles’ neck, kissing and licking it, grabbing the teenager’s hair with his free hand and pulling lightly to keep him that way. He kissed Stiles right behind the ear, on that soft spot behind his jaw, and draw a line of kisses right to his lips.

Stiles dragged his fingers all over Derek’s abs, once again wondering how well sculpted muscles can be. He lifted his hand and saw his fingertips were wet. It occurred to him why a second later, why Derek’s stomach was wet. He bit his lips, looked alpha in the eye and slowly licked his hand.

Derek wanted him so badly, so strongly, that he could only withstand a few more moments before he came himself, inside Stiles, with a deep, vibrating growl arising in his chest. He hugged Stiles, close, firmly, hiding his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck, taking a couple of deep breaths, running his hands over the teenager’s back while he dug his in Derek’s hair.

“You’re sexy when you’re mean, you know that?”, Stiles whispered in alpha’s ear.

“That shouldn’t turn you on.”

“But it does, sooo badly, as you could just see.”

Derek laughed, shaking his head, and reached for tissues on the nightstand. He cleaned himself and Stiles, and dragged them both down to lie on the bed.

It was still early, granted, but he wanted to lie down. With Stiles. And cuddle. A lot. He felt he finally got out of the woods after that whole “enough with the pizza” crysis.

****

*

****

“Hey, morning, rise and shine.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“And it’s not morning, actually, it’s almost noon. Come downstairs, I’ve made you breakfast.”

“I won’t come down.”

“Fine, want me to bring you the food here?”

“Yes please, thank you, pup. Yesterday was Prove My Boyfriend Wrong Day, but today, it seems like it’s Oh God All My Muscles Are Sore Day.”


End file.
